'People touch your hair' – the realities of travelling the world as a black woman
Have you ever felt the need to change your hairstyle before you travel because you are afraid of how you may be perceived in a foreign country? I have.
Before a trip to Poland, I covered my afro with straight extensions to avoid potential touching and unpleasant comments. There are many other things that black women factor in before booking a ticket, such as Googling a country’s attitude towards racism.
I am 26 years old and have travelled solo for the past six years. My mother instilled wanderlust into me when I was young, whisking us off to destinations such as Dubai, Egypt and Hawaii. Watching her barter in the markets of Sharm el Sheikh was inspiring.
So while studying Political Economy at King’s College London I jumped at the opportunity to study abroad at the University of California, Santa Barbara.
During spring break, when other students flew to warmer locations, I travelled east to New York. As I stood in Los Angeles airport and waited to board, I was paralysed by fear. I had always travelled with family or university classmates, but this time I was embarking on this journey alone. I overcame my fear and New York now holds a special place in my heart because it sparked my love for solo travel.
Less than two weeks after I submitted my dissertation, I was indulging in Korean barbecue in Seoul, beginning a six-week backpacking adventure from South Korea to Singapore.
My time in Asia is filled with brilliant memories, but I noticed that certain issues, such as hair touching, were not relatable to many I met along the way and some racist comments were even made by other travellers.
For most, travel is an enjoyable break from reality; we seek to reset our mood from periods of stress in our lives. We go through similar motions with each destination: booking accommodation, researching attractions and anticipating a pleasant getaway. However, as a black woman, seeking an experience abroad can be just as stressful as the routine I am trying to escape. Everyone opens themselves up to the unknown when going abroad, but the reality of not always being accepted has added risk.
Why is black womanhood so unique? Race and gender are tied together and equally impact our experience in the world.
This intersectionality affected me in New Delhi before I had even set off. Discussions on women travelling around India alone are not new, but during my pre-travel search I couldn’t see or find advice from anyone who looked like me. Reading about the experiences of women with blonde hair and blue eyes rendered my dark skin negligible, while reading tales from black men overlooked the impact my womanhood would have on my safety.
I took the plunge and went anyway. While the cities were beautiful and etched with vibrancy and culture, I stood out at all times; I was laughed at, had my space encroached and felt dehumanised by being followed. While I queued up to take pictures at tourist attractions, such as the Taj Mahal or India Gate, visitors queued to take photos of me. When I refused, my words were disregarded and though possibly not maliciously intended, cameras shoved in my face.
My battle between exasperation and staying calm highlighted the cold truth: I feel obliged to represent black women at all times, and while I don’t want the next traveller to suffer the consequences of my actions, smiling through each incident is tiresome and isolating. Other races may be gawked at abroad, but the intentions are different. Whiteness is defined as the standard of beauty worldwide, whereas dark skin is often associated with ugliness and poverty. I rarely see anyone who looks like me and just gets it, so the joy I feel when I see another black woman on my escapades is indescribable; we bond instantly because we know that for us being abroad is a defiant act in itself.
When I travel with others, the level of respect I receive is often dependent on who I am with. Hanging out with white travellers or locals tends to result in fewer race-related issues. In contrast, exploring the streets of Hanoi with another black woman resulted in us being ridiculed in the streets. In another, shocking experience, I was mistaken for a prostitute, simply because I was a black woman walking the streets alone. Hearing “how much do you charge?” in a new city is not unusual for me.
Yet despite these situations, there is joy in travelling as a black woman. I actively seek to learn about the African diaspora in addition to tourist attractions. In Cuba that meant going to the city of Trinidad to learn about Afro-Cuban culture and it quickly became my favourite city. Since people do not always believe I am British or a tourist, I have often been welcomed into the homes of locals who trust me to respect the details of their culture. In fact, I felt so accepted in Dakar that I extended my four-week trip to three months. People now often think I’m Senegalese because of how highly I speak of the country, but my unparalleled experience had everything to do with being a black woman visiting a majority-black country. Are things looking up for black women who want to travel? I think so. We have come a long way from the days of The Negro Motorist Green Book guiding black Americans to safe areas and the time when black South Africans were required to travel with Pass documents during the apartheid era.
But we are not there yet. That is why, in 2017, I set up Melanin Travel, a platform creating events, guides and content for the African diaspora so we could see ourselves reflected in travel content and make informed decisions.
Hopefully, there will be a day where black women can confidently travel without gender or race having an impact on our experiences. That is when I will know we are where we need to be.
